Oh, that peace may come
by Flatfin
Summary: The Monarchy is not meant to be easy, it is not meant to be a pleasant experience. It is a duty, but to her it is a burden, one she has never wanted and he knows this. What he doesn't know is whether or not his shoulders are broad enough to share that burden.
1. Chapter 1

" _Do you ever feel like a chess piece yourself? In a game being played against your will."_

" _Do you?"_

" _Constantly. I see them leaning in and moving me around the board...I'm sure half the politicians are ready to seize hold of my skirts and drag me from square to square."_

" _Then you had better master the rules of the game until you play it better than they can."_

" _You don't recommend I find a husband to play it for me?"_

" _I should find one to play it with you, not for you."_

Victoria and Albert, _The Young Victoria (2009)_

* * *

He turns onto _Boulevard de Waterloo_ when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He hopes that it's not his boss calling him back to the office. It's well after 9.00pm now and he's already spent better part of the last fourteen hours there, much like he has every day for the last couple of months since the terrorist attacks that tried to blow the city apart, the city that he was trying to make a conscious effort to call home.

It wasn't until he arrived on the Eurostar at Midi Station, with one suitcase and a backpack, that he realised just how long he'd been struggling to breathe.

Brussels was new. It was clean, tidy and the Europeanness of the place appealed to him. There was art, culture and a sense of propriety. London had been a gear change from Vegas, Brussels was an entirely different breath of fresh air.

Plus, he liked the Belgian beer.

He's not sure where he thought he had acquired the skills to be considered a Consultant on Security Protocols and Crisis Management, but after a late night, drunken online job application and no doubt someone in a very _high_ place providing a glowing reference, the European Defence Agency were keen to hire him. So, as they were the first organisation to come calling after he made the decision to finally leave London, he accepted the job offer and packed up his one bedroom basement flat in Shoreditch in less than two hours.

He finally manages to fish his phone from the pocket of his suit trousers before frowning at the caller ID. He considers answering, briefly, before rejecting the call outright. He continues walking, wondering whether to stop for a beer before heading home. He does his best to ignore any curiosity as to why he had been on a receiving end of a call from the Palace secure line, and how on earth they managed to get his number.

It's been a fucking year already.

He is irritated and failing miserably at putting the call to the back of his mind as he reaches the entrance of the metro station. As he turns to descend the stairs he almost mows down a girl travelling up the down side. The irritation almost boils over until he sees who it is.

"Fucking hell, you do know they put arrows on these stairs so shit like me knocking you on your ass doesn't happen? Christ sake, I just finished work and was thinking about grabbing a beer…"

He trails off when he notices the serious look on her face, which for the most part these days is entirely out of character. His shoulders stiffen and he is almost positive she's been crying.

"You haven't seen the news have you?"

He frowns and shakes his head. She thrusts her own phone into his hand, page open on the BBC news website. He narrows his eyes and is immediately drawn to the top story.

 _KING LIAM IN LIFE THREATENING COMA_

His breath catches in his throat and clicks on the story, opening another page to read how Liam had been thrown from his horse during a polo match. According to the article, which unusually was reporting detail given from a _trusted Palace source_ , the King has suffered severe head trauma, spinal injury and a punctured lung. Nothing had been officially released from the Palace to confirm the King's true condition, but one source was all it would take for the world to sit up and pay attention.

He turns to walk back up the stairs and onto the open street, suddenly needing fresh air. He pulls his own phone out and checks to see if a voicemail was left by the previous caller but there was none. He sits down on a nearby bench, head falling into his hands.

"What are you going to do?" she asks nervously as she comes to sit next to him.

"I honestly have no fucking clue. Someone tried to call me from inside the Palace about fifteen minutes ago. I don't know why I should do anything, I don't work for them anymore, I have..."

"...a giant stick up your arse, is what you have," she replies without missing a beat, "you started over, we both did, but this isn't something you can ignore."

He is about to protest when his phone starts ringing again.

She shrugs her shoulders, settling back onto the bench pulling out a Marlboro to light. He sighs and swipes his thumb across the screen. Before he can offer any kind of greeting, good or bad, he is confronted by a less-than-composed but familiar voice, one that is usually always calm under pressure. He is set on edge immediately.

" _Frost, it's time to come home…_ "

James Hill doesn't make it a request, it's an order. He seeks out her eyes, needing something to calm and ground him when he feels like his moorings have been cut out from under him.

" _...and bring Imogen with you_."

* * *

Note: Dun, dun, dun! Did you think it was Eleanor? But chill out, I hope you guys pick up on the vibe that Imogen and Jasper are just friends.

So anyway, I mentioned previously in another fic that I fancied trying my hand at a story where Eleanor becomes the HBIC. This is my attempt. It might be good, it might not be but I just want to write and see where it takes me. I've read only one other fic about Eleanor being Queen (and I think Happycat might be going that route with her new one too?) but hopefully this will be a little different and be true to the British rules in relation to Succession etc.

One other thing, in case it wasn't obvious I'm inspired by the story of Queen Victoria (the title is a quote) and how she was fearless in her rule, but loved equally fiercely in her marriage. Without giving anything away for my fic, I think Eleanor would be the heart that the Monarchy needs in this show :)

No idea how often I'll update this, but I'll get there! I just hope you like it and aren't put off at the first hurdle.

Next update to 'When We're In The Dark' will be this weekend :)

Thanks again for reading, Ave x


	2. Chapter 2

" _I'm going back to England."_

" _There must be a reason if you wish to visit Her Majesty."_

" _Then find me a reason."_

Prince Albert to Baron Stockmar, The Young Victoria (2009)

* * *

Jasper hangs up, mutters every expletive in his vocabulary at least twice and grabs Imogen's hand.

"Remember when you asked me what I'm going to do?"

She nods.

"Well what you really meant to ask was 'what are _we_ going to do' because apparently _we're_ both expected back in London."

"Oh."

"Yeah, _oh_. Now get your ass in gear, we gotta go."

Jasper is thankful that there is little complaint from Imogen as they make their way back down the metro steps. It takes just under half an hour to get from the commune of _Ixelles_ to that of _Woluwe Saint Pierre_ where he rents a small two bedroom duplex they have called home for the last twelve months or so. He is not surprised to find a black Mercedes parked outside the grey brick building and once again mutters a string of curses against the British monarchy.

Ignoring the sharply dressed minder sat at the wheel of the car, he storms his way up the front steps. He barely remembers that Imogen is following behind and narrowly avoids slamming the door in her face. He is rewarded with a loud ' _what the fuck_ ' and a less than friendly gesture involving her middle finger.

Mumbling a rather pathetic ' _sorry_ ' Jasper goes straight to his bedroom and tosses a large leather holdall onto his bed. He throws what clean clothes he has inside along with a few necessary toiletries, trying not to think about how long exactly he's going to be away from his normal closet. Jasper can hear Imogen raking around in the room next to his, no doubt doing the same.

He takes a moment or two to look around, taking in the small details of the house he's never quite gotten around to calling home. Having Imogen's company made the place somewhat less lonely. If he was honest, the sparky red-head was the only reminder of _her_ that he permitted himself to keep. He didn't speak much, but she talked enough for the both of them. Imogen had a sharp tongue and didn't feel like it was necessary to censor herself around him. She was messy, played music at twice what he considered to be a respectable level and left her hair in the shower plug hole which drove him to distraction at times. That all being said, she turned a blind eye to the one night stands he frequently brought home (if he had a thing for lean brunettes then it was nobody's business but his own). So in his eyes she wasn't entirely intolerable as a flat-mate.

Done once again packing his life into a bag (something in the back of his mind has now decided that it's going to be a while before he comes back here), he pulls a bottle of _Duvel_ from the refrigerator and ambles out to the terrace. The hired muscle waiting outside would just need to wait a bit longer because he needed to just _take. A fucking. Breath_.

His mind is going into overdrive thinking about what the fuck use he was going to be by returning to the Palace at such a private time for the Henstridge family. He'd barely even thought about poor Liam, _the King_ , lying stricken in a hospital bed. He was the closest thing Jasper had to call a friend inside the four walls of the Palace, other than that prick James Hill who was at the top of shit list right now for demanding his immediate return to the last place on earth he wants to be. His chest feels tight and and he knows it's going to be a struggle to keep it together.

He's staring into space when his hand is relieved of the beer bottle.

"I know I'm all reformed and shit, but if you need me to go find you some _Blues_ or a _Joint_ to calm you the fuck down I'm pretty sure our next door neighbour has some decent shit stowed away in his basement because there is no way a _pizza_ _delivery guy_ can afford to live in _this_ neighbourhood without a seriously shady side-line in prescription pharmaceuticals."

Imogen's a sarcastic fuck half the time, but occasionally she lets him see her caring side. He offering to compromise her own sobriety counts as caring apparently.

"The beer will do, but thanks for the offer" he replies, grabbing his bottle back after she takes a swig. "Do you have any idea what kind of shit show we're going to be walking into?"

She shrugs and settles down beside him, throwing her legs over his as she lights a smoke.

"Do _you_?" Imogen bats back, inhaling the nicotine deeply. Jasper raises his eyebrows and shrugs as she smiles at the ineptitude of his reply, "She's seen me at _my_ worst and believed I could do better…"

He snorts, "yeah, living in _my_ house in a country where you don't speak the language, working as a PA to some handsy diplomat. You're really living the dream _Gen_."

She slaps his shoulder, "don't forget that _handsy_ diplomat is your fucking boss and at least he isn't trading me out to his cronies like the last prick I let fondle my arse."

He scowls and drains the last of his beer from the bottle.

"Besides, that handsy diplomat will get his comeuppance one of these days," she warns with a degree of confidence.

He worries that Imogen still seems to think that what she puts up with is acceptable to get to where she wants to be (which he would add she still has no fucking clue where that actually is). The number of times he's watched as his boss put the moves on her makes him sick, but each time he goes to intervene she would send a glare in his direction that tells him to let her handle things on her own. In many ways she is just another person to add to his list of things he managed to fuck up.

"You deserve better Gen."

She smiles.

"I know I do, and it's a work in progress. You know, when you're not walking about with a stick up your arse, you make a decent enough friend. I suppose that could be considered a start towards _better_."

Jasper smiles as he pulls himself up, dropping Imogen's feet to the concrete.

"Christ you really are fucked in life if you call _that_ a start."

"It's the truth and my guess is _that's_ why James Hill wants us _both_ back to London sooner rather than later. Who knows how Eleanor is right now, but with good friends who care about her…"

"The Princess and I were never friends, Imogen."

"Well, I don't know what the fuck you would call whatever the two of you were," sometimes Jasper regrets blurting the entire story to her the night they moved into the duplex whilst getting drunk on cheap Belgian beer, "...but that doesn't mean you can't be her friend _now_. I'd say that possibly losing both brothers in less than two years, she's going to need all the friends she can get."

"She asked me to leave and I did. The last thing Eleanor needs right now is me showing up like a fucking ghoul..."

He stands in front of Imogen and offers his hand to help her up.

"...now come on, I spend enough of my life hanging around waiting for you."

"Oh please," she smirks, "I'm not the one who takes twenty minutes in the morning combing out my eyebrows. I should know, I timed you once."

It's a damned lie, but it still draws a reluctant smile.

"Of course you did," he replies, because that's the kind of shit his flatmate does apparently.

They leave the relative sanctuary of the duplex and are informed by the driver as they get into the waiting vehicle that a private jet has been arranged for them at Brussels National Airport.

Imogen is positively delighted by the prospect of leather recliners and decent bar snacks as Jasper consoles himself with the knowledge that at least if he's about to fly into a shit storm he'll be doing it with his closest friend at his side and in a relative amount of style.

* * *

A/N: So, the response to the first chapter was incredible. Thank you so much. Seems like Imogen was indeed a surprise so I hope when I write the flashback of how that happened that you'll all like it. I think it will be the next chapter.

As ever, to the reviewers who I cannot reply to, your feedback has been wonderful and I appreciate you all taking the time to read and give me your thoughts. They certainly fuel my desire to keep writing. I _think_ I replied to every other reviewer, if not then I profusely apologise but I did read the reviews and they all made me smile!

I hope you enjoyed and in the meantime, I updated When We're In The Dark just before the weekend so if you haven't caught up or read that yet I hope you take a peek!

Much love, Ave x


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